I’ve been working full time for almost 9 months now, and, you know what? It isn’t all that bad. I’d still prefer to be part time, but that has far more to do with having young children and a busy life (not to mention the burgeoning artistic career, of course) than it does with my medical condition.
I can still do my desk job perfectly well. I might get a bit stiff sometimes, but a brisk walk down the corridor to fetch a drink usually sorts that out. And I do feel a whole lot better if I get out for some fresh air and a bit of exercise at lunch time, but that probably applies to everybody, to some extent. I still ride my bike, and it comes in jolly handy at times, too. My dexterity has been largely restored by the ropinirole, but any thoughts I might have had of touch-typing properly with both hands have been dashed to pieces. Not that I could ever touch-type, mind. It’s just that the left hand wouldn’t be able to keep up.
It seems that the drugs do work. Mostly.
Of course, they’ll need adjusting now and then, and eventually things will change and no doubt strange little things will occur. But Parkinson’s is generally slowly progressive, and I’m still holding on to the idea that I (probably) get a good ten years out of levadopa. Which I haven’t started yet.
Oh, and my consultant is happy; she’s extended the interval between appointments to 9 months rather than 6. I’m sure that it’s not just a cost-cutting measure.